


Harsh Realm

by lovingangelindisguise



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Blood As Lube, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Bloodplay, Car Accidents, Choking, Dom/sub, Drug Use, F/M, Forest Sex, Hair-pulling, Kidnapping, Knife Kink, Knife Play, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Lucas Baker - Freeform, Lucas Baker is an asshole, Painplay, Pole Dancing, Restraints, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Work, Spit As Lube, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, Violence, but what's new?, we all love that asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27172832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovingangelindisguise/pseuds/lovingangelindisguise
Summary: It feels too hot and your body feels heavy, too heavy to move, but your lithe fingers curl around the dollar bills spread around your kneeling figure. He’s watching you still, and something about the look makes your thoughts swim. It’s feral, predatory, and it screams warnings. Warnings like don’t take candy from strangers.(AKA: Lucas expands his hunting grounds to the biker bars and strip clubs of Dulvey)
Relationships: Lucas Baker/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Harsh Realm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FancyLadySnackCakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/gifts).



> So I've been lurking in the Res Evil 7 fandom for years and finally just got the nerve to write something for it because I just played the Res Evil 2 remake and it's fuuucking amazing. Also, have to say thanks to @FancyLadySnackCakes and their ridiculously amazing writing and all the Lucas Baker fics they have written (and Wrench fics) because they are a HUGE inspo and everyone go support them k?
> 
> The title of this fic is the song Harsh Realm by Widowspeak and I listened to it on repeat writing this entire story so apparently I like that song, def recommend that too since it is quoted in the story.
> 
> ANYWAYS, enjoy!! Thanks for reading! 🖤

The red lights make your vision dark with a heavy haze—the eyes watching you from below just faceless shadows. Your fingers wrap around the cool metal spinning against your hand as your body sways with the music, and the steady beat keeps your limbs moving without you even trying.

There’s money beneath your feet, dollars tucked into the waist of your red panties. It’s soft against your skin from the sweat of the desperate fingers clutching it before they toss it to you or wave you forward with it for some skin on skin. Your spinning vision roams the room as you lean backward, gripping onto the pole so that you don’t go careening back onto your head.

 _Last night, I thought of you_ _  
Years ago, when bodies grew  
An empty home  
A vacant Hell  
I knew you in the harsh realm_

Your mouth is dry from the weed but tastes like the mint you swallowed before coming on stage. The high is nice and you swing around the pole with seductive ease. When your half-lidded eyes raise from the paper green floor, you’re met by the piercing gaze of a hooded figure. He’s leaning back against the wall with his hands shoved in his pockets, but the moving lights sometimes catch his eyes and the lower half of his face which looks rough with stubble.

A peal of feminine laughter breaks the music, but your hips find the beat again, rocking side to side as your hands trail up your body— over your breasts, and up the sides of your neck till they’re tangled in your hair. Your head lolls back but your tired eyes find his again. He hasn’t moved.

You wonder what his hands would feel like wrapped in your hair. He’s toying with something in his pocket. Maybe it’s money. You drop to your knees and the dollar bills stick to your sweaty skin as you crawl across the floor. Hands reach for you as you pass but you don’t care and crawl till there’s a break in the crowd and you can see him better, sitting back on your heels and flipping your hair on the way up.

He’s tall and lanky, florescent red light accentuating the gauntness in his cheeks and beneath his eyes. You can see the shadows beneath them even in the dark. He looks like a junkie.

 _I thought about how it was_ _  
I thought about you because  
I always  
Think about you  
I always think about you_

It feels too hot and your body feels heavy, too heavy to move, but your lithe fingers curl around the dollar bills spread around your kneeling figure. He’s watching you still, and something about the look makes your thoughts swim. It’s feral, predatory, and it screams warnings. Warnings like don’t take candy from strangers.

The song’s almost over now and you’re tucking the money into your mesh bra, too lazy to get up—not that anyone minds by the way your ass sways in the air as you crawl across the stage. Your muscles burn with a dull ache as you finally force yourself to rise, drawing it out to make a little extra cash. So, you wait with your fingers brushing against the tops of your patent leather heels, bent at the waist and letting them all get that good image of what it’d be like to fuck you bent over that way, before you finally straighten up. Of course, your gaze moves straight to him.

 _I always think about you_ _  
I always think about you  
I always think about you  
I always think about you_

The lights are yellow and too bright once you get back stage and it makes you wince, makes behind your eyes throb. Before you can even move towards your locker the house mother is praising you for your routine, but her words are just a hum of static noise that blend with the echo of the music that’s still playing front of house.

Once you make your escape to the bathroom, feeling is slowly coming back. You’re too tired to take off your makeup so you just strip from your outfit, quickly wiping yourself clean before you throw on a pair of worn black jeans, an old band t-shirt, and sneakers.

Thankfully, it’s easy to sneak outside without having to speak to anyone else, and the cold night air is like heaven against your sweat damp skin. The parking lot is relatively empty by then and the neon pink sign that reads “Heaven’s Night” is the only thing lighting your way as you stumble to your car, flicking desperately at your lighter before taking a long drag of the leftover joint from before work.

You stand by your car for a minute and the smoke is a white cloud in the air as you exhale to the stars, a sickle of moon hanging overhead in the inky black. It’s a void, just like you. The door to the club slams closed somewhere behind but you don’t even bother to look, fishing your keys from your purse and shoving them in the lock before wrenching the car door open— then throwing your purse into the passenger seat.

As you duck down to climb into the driver seat, force like a punch is shoving you inside the car with a palm against the side of your head and a boney hand wrapped around your arm. Your brain hasn’t caught up to what’s happening yet, but it does register pain, especially when your thigh slams into the emergency break and your head hits against the passenger side window when he finally forces you to the other side of the car.

Adrenaline kicks in when he climbs in beside you and suddenly your lungs hurt from breathing so hard, and your hands are shaking. The driver door slams shut and the engine revs to life. Your gaze finally shifts from where it’d been pinned to your knees and anxiously you look at the hooded figure sitting beside you who’s now hitting the gas and almost annihilating the bottom of your car on the curb as he peels out of the parking lot.

“Wh-what the fuck… What the fuck? What the fuck are you doing??” It doesn’t sound familiar when you speak, like somebody else’s voice, and the words are just there to fill the silence.

“Tha fuck yuh think I’m doin’?” The backroads Louisiana accent is surprising, and you almost laugh at the sound of it since you’d been more of expecting the rough growl of some sludge-metal fucker. He reaches forward to turn on the stereo and some of the exact noise you’d been thinking of comes screeching static doom through the blown out speakers.

“Nawt bad fer a girl.” You can hear the smirk in his voice, and you want to roll your eyes at the misogyny, but it seems like the least of your problems at the moment. So, you just scoot closer to your side of the car and further away from him.

“What do you want from me?” It comes out like a whisper when you finally find the nerve to speak after a few minutes, and you wonder if he can even hear you over the music, but he does:

“Aw well, I’d jus been gettin’ really fuckin’ bored yuh know? Figured I’d start lookin’ other places for mah test subjects— never thought I’d stumble awn somethin’ like yew though…” He trails off at the last part and your stomach is in knots.

Test subject? What the fuck does that mean? You’re regretting getting high now because it’s really accelerating your paranoia and you feel like your heart is gonna beat right out of your chest.

He’s speeding down the backroads of the farmland. It’s almost pitch black out there despite the moon, and the only light inside the car is from the fuzzy green letters on the stereo. Even that is enough for you to make out his face in the darkness, though. He looks like a ghost, pale and emaciated. Still, the way his fingers grip the steering wheel with a lazy confidence and the sunken hollows of his eyes make you cross your legs. You’re fucked up, and probably going to die, no need to hide your humanity now.

Even still, your barely there conscious and the innate lust for survival is winning against trying to give up and give in. There’s only one option, since you know you can’t overpower him considering that he practically snapped your arm in half just shoving you in the car—you’ll both just have to die. And honestly, that’s fine because at least no one can say you didn’t try.

“Why’d yew start doin’ it? He asks, and the sudden sound makes you jump having been so lost in thought.

“Doing what?” Your tone comes out sarcastic and you see his grip on the steering wheel tighten. It gives you a small feeling of smug satisfaction. He is at least _some_ part human.

“Dancin’.” He glances over at you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes now, even though just less than an hour ago you couldn’t tear your eyes from his.

“…” No one has asked you that before. You’ve only been doing it for the last year after you turned twenty, at the joking suggestion of one of your friends when you lost your job bartending. “I like it.”

He looks over at you again, but you keep your eyes on the road ahead of you.

“Yew like gettin’ naked for strangers? Huh. Never met ah whore who liked bein’ a whore.” He gives a short laugh of disbelief, and you feel a surge of anger.

“I’m not a whore, you fuck, and I don’t get naked— I never take my underwear off, okay? At least I don’t fucking kidnap random girls in parking lots like some lowlife piece of shit. Does that ring any bells?” You snap, turning to face him now with fists clenched at your sides.

He just laughs at your little outburst, not even bothering to spare you another glance. No. He just leans back in his seat and gets comfortable, drapes his wrist lazily over the wheel, settling in for the long drive.

“Guess yew got me there.” He’s smiling in the dark. You can see the light reflecting off his teeth. Asshole.

He takes a turn off the main road now, taking you down a gravel backroad into the woods. This isn’t good, you think. At least on the main road you had the possibility of someone passing by or finding you. He’s isolating you. There’s no other choice.

Your eyes dart between his face and the road, the trees whipping by in a washed out blur from the headlights. _There’s no other choice._ You let out the breath you’d been holding. There isn’t anyone you can think of to say goodbye to, no last minute pleas for forgiveness either. Your mind goes blank as you lunge forward, slamming against his chest and clumsily grabbing the steering wheel just enough to wrench it to the left and cause the car to go skidding off the path and into the trees.

The road is rough, and the center console is like an endless punch in the gut where you’re stretched across now almost face first in his lap while his elbow slams between your shoulder blades as he tries to regain control over the car. He’s too late. You hear the deafening crush of metal before you feel the impact, and the front of your already beat up car is wrapping around a tree.

Thankfully, his forearm blocks your head from slamming into the steering wheel, but you can practically feel the sickening crunch as his nose doesn’t have the same luck, and his blood is dripping into your hair. You’re just grateful that you didn’t get cut in half by the gearshift.

It’s quiet for a minute. Your eyes are closed, listening to the peaceful groan of metal shifting around wood and the steam from the busted radiator. He’s slumped over you, his breath tickling the back of your neck through your hair, and that sensation is what pulls you from your reverie of assumed death.

With what dizzy energy you can muster, you untangle yourself from his grip—but even as you fall back against the passenger door and back into your seat, his fingers are still knotted into your t-shirt. You pray its rigor mortis, but you’ve never been a lucky one. He’s sitting up now, and his head falls back against the head rest with a dull thud, giving you full view of his nose, which has been ripped off from where bone turns to cartilage and is hanging out of place against his cheek just beneath his eye. Bile rises in your throat. It all just looks like black blood and white flesh.

You almost feel like passing out when he reaches up and flips it back in place with a gurgling groan of pain that makes bloody drool drip down his chin.

“Fuh-kin pain in tha ass...” Even with the nasally wetness in his voice you can still make out the words, and they bring you back to the reality of your situation. Blindly you reach behind and fumble for the door handle, not even hesitating when your fingers find purchase and practically throw the car door open.

You fall at first, suddenly aware the weakness that’s consumed your whole body. The dirt is cold and damp beneath you, and the cold night air burns with each heaving, panicked breath. Though once you hear the driver side door creaking open, your legs start wanting to work again, and you’re crawling for a few feet before you finally find the strength to run.

There’s no need to look behind to know he’s following you; his heavy footfall is all you can hear in the oppressive quiet that surrounds you both. At this point your thoughts aren’t even worried about death being the inevitable outcome, you just keep repeating to yourself that this can’t be happening. It’s just a bad high.

Thin branches whip your face and stray stones beneath your feet threaten to trip you as you run but you keep pushing forward, despite the burn in your muscles screaming for you to stop, and unexpectedly— a small golden light flickers to life somewhere in the distance ahead. That small beacon of hope is all you need to keep pushing forward.

He’s gaining on you. You can almost hear him breathing now and it makes your stomach lurch with fear. The light sways to the right a little and then passes behind a tree. Something, someone, must be controlling it.

“Help me!! Help me please!!” You scream hoarsely, flailing your arms overhead as if whoever is wielding it might somehow see, and the light suddenly stops.

You almost slowdown from the sense of relief that washes over you. Whoever it is will help you. They have to. Your relief is short-lived when he finally catches up and slams into you like a fucking freight train, knocking the air from your lungs when you hit the ground; pinned beneath the hard earth and his body. Before you can even try to scream again his hand is over your mouth, fingers and the heel of his palm squeezing your cheeks in a bone shattering grip as a warning for you to keep quiet. His weight is crushing on top of you and your ribs feel like they’re going to snap like popsicle sticks if he doesn’t let up soon.

“Lu…Lucas BOY IS THAT YOU?!” A woman’s voice breaks the silence, her accent is just like his “You’d BETTER FUCKIN’ ah-ANSWER YOUR MAMA you… YOU PIECE OF SHIT!!”

He huffs beside your head, as if he’s annoyed, and that’s when you realize that Lucas is the psycho who’s currently on top of you and your beacon of hope is his mother—who sounds equally as psycho. Tears sting in your eyes, and your fingers curl against the dirt beneath you, clawing at the ground. You’re fucked.

The light begins to move closer, and Lucas tenses above you. It feels like bugs are crawling across your skin, and something long and slimy skitters over the top of your hand. The coldness of the earth is seeping through your clothes and you shudder beneath him, panting heavily through your nose.

“Ungrateful little… little SHIT.” You jerk slightly when she yells the last part, and Lucas huffs again though this time it’s different, more breathless. You don’t even have to wonder why when he starts grinding against your ass lightly, as if testing the waters. With all the chaos going on you failed to notice that your ass is pressed right against his crotch, and now you can feel that he apparently just noticed as well.

You want to throw him off you and scream bloody murder but alerting his mother of your situation would most certainly mean death. At least if it was one against one you _might_ have a chance. So, reluctantly you stay still. The light sways just ahead and you can hear her muttering to herself, but after a while she goes quiet and then the light begins to slowly disappear till all you’re left with is the smothering darkness and the sound of Lucas’ soft breathing beside your ear.

“Well fuck me tha was ah close one.” He grumbles, sitting up at last and using the grip of his hand over your mouth to yank you up with him. Though instead of standing up, he just sits back on his heels with you kneeling between his knees and your back pressed against his chest.

“Gets yer heart goin’, huh?” The hand that isn’t clamped across your face snakes around your front and you jolt in shock when it presses against the bare skin of your stomach. His skin is cold to the touch but he’s surprisingly gentle, even when his fingers ghost across your ribcage and he prods at the gaps there, as if searching for your pounding heartbeat. The callouses on his fingertips causing goosebumps to rise.

“So soft…” He murmurs and you shudder. It feels colder outside, but it might just be because panic is ebbing to acceptance and your body is getting too tired to warm itself up anymore. You hear his sharp intake of breath when his hand finally grazes your bare breast. The mix of a cold night and heated touch has your nipples already hard and he rolls one between his fingertips, teasing you. It’s hard to suppress your moan when he gives a hard pinch, flicking the sensitive nub with his thumb now.

Apparently, he wants a reaction from you, because he growls in frustration at your silence and the hand that’s over your mouth drops to wrap around your throat instead. His palm applies just enough pressure against your windpipe that you can’t scream for help, but you also can no longer fight the pathetic whimpers that escape when he starts roughly massaging your breast with his other hand.

“Ya like that? Like bein’ ah little whore?” As much as you’d love to headbutt him with the back of your head for saying it the words send heat straight between your legs and you squeeze your thighs together subconsciously, “thas what ah thought.” Lucas snickers.

His hand falls from your chest and starts fumbling with the button of your jeans, practically ripping it open along with your zipper. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment, even though it goes unnoticed in the dark, and the moment his hand starts to slide down the front of your jeans your brain kicks into panic mode again.

This time he’s a little more prepared, but the way you thrash and buck trying to throw him off balance still forces him to shove you forward so you’re face down in the dirt again. He’s got a fistful of your hair now, holding you like a dog by its scruff as he grinds your face against the ground where little pebbles dig cuts into the soft skin of your cheek.

Lucas is kneeling above you with a knee on either side of your hips and his other hand holding one of your wrists against the small of your back, and you can feel his gaze heavy and all the fucked up thoughts behind it.

“Yew gonna be ah good girl and stay still?” There’s a real threat behind the fake words and, despite the way your face is behind held against the ground, you nod.

“I can’t heeaarr yew!” He suddenly bends your wrist back the wrong way a little farther than it’s supposed to go, and you cry out from the pain that shoots through your hand and arm.

“Yes, you fucking bastard! Yes!” You cry, feeling like your hand is literally about to be snapped off.

“Aw, that’s nawt very nice. Yer mama never teach yew manners?” You can see him grinning in your peripherals and you’re starting to lose feeling in your hand, but you can’t hold back:

“Fuck. You.”

Lucas just laughs, though he does finally let go of your wrist and you quickly try to cradle it against your chest as much as you can.

“Guess I’ll just hafta be tha one to teach ya.”

One hand keeps your face pressed into the dirt while the other disappears from your vision, but you can hear some rustling followed by a loud click. At the feeling of cold metal against your lower back you jerk forward with a startled cry. He doesn’t care, and just pushes your shirt up with the hilt of the knife, then stabbing through the thin fabric just beneath the collar before dragging the blade down and tearing your shirt with little resistance against the sharp blade.

He releases your hair for a moment to rip in half what is left of your shirt and immediately you swing your body around with arms flailing. The back of your injured fist connects with his lower jaw but it hurts you more than it hurts him, and he doesn’t budge, just grabs your wrists through your violent thrashing. You’re face to face now; he’s got you pinned on your back and finally yanks your cut-in-half shirt away from your body.

The cold air hits your bare skin, and you would cry if you had any energy left. He uses the scraps of your shirt to tie your wrists together—tight enough that it’s almost cutting off your circulation, and then turns his attention back to your denim clad lower half.

“P-please don’t do th-this.” Even though you’re not crying your voice still comes out a shuddering sob, and in the moonlit night you can see him smirking down at you. He’s thriving off your helplessness.

Lucas grips the waistband of your jeans and yanks them down to your knees, and the sight of your naked sex makes him not even bother to pull them off all the way before he eagerly shoves his fingers between your slick folds. The pleasure is a startling contrast to everything you’ve been feeling, and immediately your knees fall apart to give him better access despite thoughts screaming against it. His calloused fingers prod at your sensitive clit, making your hips jerk.

“Thought yew didn’t want it? Yuh must be ah whore and ah liar, cause yer fuckin’ yerself on my fingers right now like a bitch in heat.”

You just moan in response, thrusting your hips up to try and find a rhythm with his fingers. At the feeling of cold metal against your skin again, your eyes fly open. He’s dragging the blade tip from your belly button up, and when your eyes meet, he starts to dig it in— slicing a thin cut between your breasts that has small rivulets of blood chasing his knife.

The cut stings but he finally slides two fingers knuckle deep in your cunt, and you couldn’t care less about the pain. If anything, it just makes your pleasure more potent. His thumb smears the blood across your left breast while his other hand keeps a steady pace of pounding into you till all you can focus on is the wet sound of his fingers fucking into you and your own wanton moaning.

Without warning he makes a shallow slash across your side, just above your hip, and you cry out. Once it pools to the surface, this one bleeds. You can feel the blood trickling down your side and the hot burn of split flesh, and he drops the knife for a moment to shove his thumb against it, spreading the lips of the wound just like he’s spreading your nether lips.

His thumb gouges deeper and his fingers curl inside you, making your eyes roll back from the sensory onslaught. You’re writhing beneath him at this point and keep feeling his hard cock brush against your thigh through his jeans, and though you know it’s fucked up— all you want is for him to gut you figuratively or maybe even literally with it.

“L-Lucas,” you pant, he’s not making it easy rubbing circles against your clit with his thumb now “Fuhh… F-Fuck me, please.”

“Huh? Wha was that?” The triumphant tone of his voice is annoying, but you’re too blissed out to care. You whine when he pulls his fingers out of you with a wet pop, and yelp in surprise when he gives your cunt a hard slap.

“Please!” You cry, finally desperate enough that you meet his manic gaze.

“Tha wasn’t so hard now was it?” He starts unbuttoning his jeans and you practically sigh in relief. When he takes his cock out you bite your lip, watching hungrily as he lazily strokes his fist up and down the shaft. It’s long and thick, and everything you ever wanted at the moment. You must look as much like a crazed bitch as you feel, because he just chuckles before grabbing you by the ankle and forcing you to turn on your side with your knees bent.

Your wrists are still tied and stretched above your head but laying on your side you can still watch as he spits on his fingers and rubs them against your already dripping entrance.

“Not enough…” He murmurs and picks up something off the ground beside your ass. The knife comes back into view and your heart drops at the sight, maybe he did intend to gut you now. He drags the blade over the curve of your ass, not applying any pressure yet but you’re nearly biting your tongue off from the suspense, and then he pulls back a moment before slashing it down across the back of your thigh. This one feels deeper than the last too, and you squeeze your eyes shut, holding back any noise of pain. When your thigh muscles flex you can feel the wound split a little wider.

His fingers are kindling the pain again, coating them in the clumps of coagulated blood before he smears them across the lips of your cunt, and groans in satisfaction at the gory sight. It makes your stomach turn with nausea.

After a moment, his fingers disappear and are replaced by the blunt, warm head of his cock. He drops the knife to grab your hip for stability, his other hand guiding his cock inside you. The initial stretch makes you gasp, searing pain that spreads to the other wounds on your body and amplifies each throb of suffering. It dulls the deeper he pushes in and keeps pushing till you think you can’t take anymore. You’ve never felt this full in your life, and he gives you no time to adjust, already pulling back out to slam back in again and tear a ragged cry from your throat.

Lucas snaps his hips against you relentlessly, the sound of skin against skin echoing off the trees that surround you. You can’t even make a noise, each thrust knocking the wind out of you to the point all you can do is gasp for air and bite down on your shoulder.

The blood from the back of your thigh is smearing against his abdomen and there’s blood all over his hand from your side. You’re both slippery with blood and sweat, and he’s pounding you into the dirt so viciously you know your whole body is going to be bruised but you’re too high to care. His name is on your lips with a hoarse whisper, pleasure like a wild fire consuming your every thought and feeling.

His hand clumsily finds your throat again. His thumb on your pulse as he slowly bears down on your windpipe, cutting off air supply. Your cunt spasms around him as you whine and moan desperately for more. He lets up just enough for you to gulp in a quick breath before he’s squeezing again, and your vision goes white. It’s like there’s nothing else, only the way he’s completely wrecking you.

When you breathe in again everything comes crashing down. Your whole body trembles with the force of your orgasm, back arched and clawing at the dirt as your cunt throbs like a heartbeat between your legs, spasming around his cock so tight you can feel the pulse of his own orgasm and the way his cock twitches just before he spills deep inside you— filling you up.

Little shockwaves of pleasure still wrack your body as you come down, and Lucas practically whimpers when he finally pulls out, your body like a vice around him. You’re staring up at the moon and stars between the black silhouettes of tree branches, all a blurry glow. There’s not a thought in your head only feeling, raw and exposed. The earth feels so soft beneath you now, and your eyes flutter shut.

Lucas doesn’t even bother to clean himself off before he tucks his cock back in his pants, still a little breathless too.

“Gawddamn I ain’t had a night like this since—well fuck if ah know when.”

You don’t even bother to look at him, but you can feel him looming over you now that he’s standing up. He flips his knife closed before turning his attention back to where you’re still laying on the ground, and he nudges your back with the toe of his sneaker.

“Yew alive down there? Ah didn’t fuck yuh to death, did I?”

Unfortunately, his stupid commentary is ruining your blissful haze and you roll your eyes behind closed lids, then finally look at him. He’s got the hood of his sweatshirt up still and you’re randomly wondering if it was up the whole time he was fucking you too.

“You’ll have to try a lot harder than that.” You respond, but you’re too tired to even sound sarcastic—it just comes out deadpan. Lucas laughs and bends over to grab you by the arm, then pulling you to your feet despite your protests.

“Well lucky for yew, I like ah challenge.”

Your feet drag as he half carries you through the woods and everything is spinning; if it’s from the blood loss or sex you’re not sure. One thing you do know for sure is that wherever he’s taking you, you’re never going to make it out alive.


End file.
